


Bucky Blue

by bluebladenova



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Nightmares, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebladenova/pseuds/bluebladenova
Summary: Previously titled MAZARINE. Bucky accidentally injures himself during a nightmare, so the reader decides to help. The reader and Bucky become closer as friends and hopefully more.





	1. Indigo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So far I have two chapters of this work written but I plan on adding much more. I hope you enjoy it!

Bucky wasn’t really your friend. He wasn’t really anybody’s friend besides Steve’s. He just kept to himself in the training facility, not speaking to anyone, only occasionally allowing a smile when Wanda and Nat got up to some antics. He was a teammate, for sure, and you would trust him to save your life if it came down to it. But you knew almost nothing about him except a few key points: his name was James Buchanan Barnes, he was born in 1917, and for the last seventy years, he was a brainwashed assassin working for HYDRA. You had seen footage of his skirmish with Nat, Sam, and Steve on the highway and it gave you chills. He looked so purposeful, so coldly efficient. Sam, having gotten over the trauma of Bucky nearly killing him, referred to it as the “murder strut.”  
  
As a new member of the Avengers, you’d thought you’d have gotten to know the team well, maybe as friends. But they weren’t sure about you quite. Unsurprisingly, they all had trust issues.    
  
One night, when insomnia struck, you went to the common room in the training facility watching TV and eating cereal. After half an hour of watching, you thought you heard an odd sound from the dormitories, so you turned down the volume and sat perfectly still.  
  
Fabric moving, with force, violence. A soft, angry cry, then soft, muffled sobs. You frowned, but remained still for the time being. You heard metal clinking softly and water running in his bathroom. Bucky?  
  
You fought with yourself for a moment and then decided to check it out. Nightmares were common, especially with the Avengers, but you’d never heard them crying. You tiptoed, silently congratulating yourself on your stealth training. You gently pushed his door open and peeked inside.  
  
The bed was empty, sheets soaked in what you assumed was sweat and one pillow on the ground. A little sliver of light bled through the crack of the door as it hung slightly open.You could see a few inches through the door. His back was to you, head hanging down dejectedly, hair in his face. You saw his metal fingers gripping the sink as he breathed, trying to ground himself. You saw him hold a small washcloth to his face with his flesh hand.

You ventured over, making sure to make some noise so he could hear you.

“Bucky?” You asked softly, hand on the door. “Are you okay?”

There was silence as he took a few moments to answer. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he said, voice rough from sleep and tears. “Go back to bed.”

You gently pushed the door open and took a half-step inside. “I couldn’t sleep… what happened?” You asked, seeing the pink on the wet white washcloth.

“Nothing,” he muttered. You frowned at him, concerned, and reached for the cloth. “That’s not nothing, that’s- oh.” Bucky had finally looked at you and with the washcloth out of the way, you saw eight vertical scratches running from under his eyes down to his jawline, four on the left side of his face, four on the right.Small amounts of blood crept through the wounds and smeared slightly over his cheeks.

“What on earth… you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” you assured him when you noticed him shrink down upon himself. “It’s okay. Let me help you. Please?” You stared up at him with big puppy eyes.

Too confused to say no, he just nodded, lips slightly parted.

You made him sit down on the toilet and washed your hands with soap and water, instructing him to keep the cloth over his scratches. You gently lifted the fabric off his face after drying your hands, satisfied that they had stopped bleeding. He let you touch and hold his face like he was a doll, his shoulders relaxed. You suspected that he was starved for positive physical contact. Or he trusted you. Or… or he was used to negative consequences if he didn’t cooperate. You paused and tilted his head ever so slightly so he would look at you.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable,” you said softly, “please tell me. I won’t touch you if you don’t want to be touched.” His baby-blue eyes softened and moistened a little. He looked down and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he assured you. “I just… miss how gentle touch feels.” His ears turned red. “God, does that sound pathetic?”

You shook your head as well. “No,” you reassured him as you released him and pulled out the antibiotic. “It’s not pathetic. It’s completely understandable.” You spread some of the antibiotic on your fingers. “This might sting, but I’m not sure. I’ve never had to use it,” you cautioned him. He shrugged. “I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he joked quietly. You laughed at that. “Nope, this will be the most extreme, serious pain you will ever feel,” you murmured good-naturedly as you gently coated the scratches with the antibiotic.

“Please, stop. You’re killing me. Just put me out of my misery,” Bucky deadpanned, sending you both into giggles. Without thinking about it, you tucked a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear before turning to get the band-aids.

Bucky felt you tuck the hair and instinctively tried to follow that gentle touch. He leaned towards your hand imperceptibly, disappointed when you had turned fully away. He gazed over at you, watching you rummage through the first aid kit.

_She’s so beautiful. And kind. This line of work would ruin her. I would ruin her._ His heart sank. He shook his head a little to snap him out of the inappropriate thoughts. _You’re just making goo-goo eyes at her because she treats you like a human being. Because she’s the first one to touch you gently in decades. Calm the hell down, Barnes._

He got so lost in his own thoughts that when you spoke again, he jumped a little.

“You have a decision to make,” you said sternly.

_Is she a mind-reader?_ Bucky panicked for a moment. “W- I don’t-“

You held up two boxes of band-aids. “Hello Kitty or Scooby-Doo?” You asked seriously.

He stared at the boxes, open-mouthed.

“I… I don’t know what that means.”

You smirked. “Hello Kitty it is.”

You gently bandaged his wounded cheeks and smiled proudly at your handiwork. “Much better! Hello Kitty fixes everything.” Bucky smiled a little and stood up, towering over you. You looked up at him and smiled. “You’re not scary. You’re adorable.”

His ears turned red again. “I’m a terrifying monster,” he muttered. You pouted and shook your head at him. “No you aren’t, silly. You’re not scary, you’re scared.”

He sighed, the smile gone from his face. He crossed the room with heavy strides and sat on his bed. You stared for a moment, wondering why his mood had shifted. Suddenly, he put his head in his hands and began to cry. He was curled in on himself, hair hanging like curtains to hide his shame, soft hiccups escaping his fingers.

Your heart melted. You hurried to his side and hugged him, burying your face in his flesh shoulder. “Shhh,” you begged him. “Bucky, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Bucky shook his head and wiped his eyes, still shaking. “No, it wasn’t you,” he managed to get out after taking a breath. “It’s just- sometimes, everything comes rushing back. All the awful things I did, everyone I killed just… it’s like they’re screaming at me, Y/N. It’s like they’re all screaming in my face.”

You squeezed him. “Bucky… that wasn’t you. That was something beyond your control. It wasn’t your fault.” You gently rubbed his back when you felt the shaking return.

You held him as he cried, gently stroking his hair and rubbing his back and shoulders until he finally quieted. You let the silence hang in the air, wondering what to say.

“Can I tell you something, Bucky?” You asked quietly. Bucky wiped his eyes again and nodded. “S-sure.”

You pursed your lips. “My mom told me something when I was in high school that I thought was bullshit. Now, I get it.

“Emotions are ephemeral. Happiness is ephemeral. There isn’t a goal you can accomplish or an item you can obtain that will make you happy forever. No matter what, at some point you will be sad again.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Shush. On the other side of that coin, fear, sadness, and pain- that’s all ephemeral too. That doesn’t last either. The pain that you are in right now, the person you are right now? That could change tomorrow. It will change, eventually. You’re not going to be this for the rest of your life. You don’t have to let it consume you. You’ve already come so far. You were a mindless killing machine-“ he flinched at that- “but that’s not you anymore. It never was. You’ve already come so far, Bucky. At this point, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Bucky didn’t answer you, exactly. He did, however, turn slightly and embrace you. He hugged you, burying his face in your shoulder, squeezing you gently. You hugged him back. He smelled good, like fabric softener. He released you gently. “Hey… I know we don’t know each other really well, but… can we cuddle?” He looked embarrassed just asking. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart softened. He was so vulnerable. How do you say no to a man with Hello Kitty bandaids on their face? “Okay,” you said softly. He smiled a little, relief all over his handsome face.

“But no funny business,” you added in a stern, but playful tone. “Steve told me all about your pre-war days, how you’d seduce women with those little blue puppy eyes.”

He laughed out loud, looking away bashfully. “Don’t know what he’s talking about,” he smirked in a way that made you think he knew _exactly_ what you were talking about. “No funny business,” he agreed. “Just cuddles.” You smiled and helped him make the bed back up with fresh sheets. You scooted into the bed to cuddle up to his warmth. He held you with his warm right arm, putting a pillow on his metal arm to support his neck.

He was warm, muscular, and a damn good cuddler. It felt so safe to be held by him.

You stayed up a while, not moving, just wondering. You pondered for a long time, wondering how he had scratched himself, _why_ he had scratched himself- and it hit you like a freight train.

Your mind flashed back to the news reels. The terrifying Winter Soldier, walking like a storm on the bridge. No goggles, but a mask. A muzzle. _He was dreaming about HYDRA. He was trying to take off the muzzle. He drew his own blood trying to escape HYDRA’s control in a dream._

You decided not to risk letting him dwell on it. “What’s your favorite constellation?” You blurted out. There was a pause.

“Canis Major.”

“The dog? Why?”

You felt him shrug. “I like dogs. What’s your favorite?”

“Lyra, the harp.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” you shifted a little, cuddling closer to his strong chest. “I like the story. Lyra was the instrument played by Orpheus, the best musician in all of Greece. His music could soothe any savage, bring joy to the hearts of the weary. Anyways, Orpheus marries Eurydice, the love of his life, but she gets bitten by a poisonous snake on their wedding day and dies.”

“Yikes.”

“I know. So Orpheus is really bummed about it and decides to bust her out of the Underworld. He uses Lyra to enter the Land of the Dead, then plays a bop to soften Hades’ dead little heart.”

“I see.” He sounded amused, like you could hear the smile. His lips were brushing the top of your head as he listened.

“So Hades says, ‘Okay, I’ll let her go. But you can’t look at her, you just have to trust that she’s behind you. Don’t look at her until you get back to the land of the living.’ So Orpheus agrees and leads his wife back up to the world. Except, literally like three steps from the living world, Orpheus screws up and looks behind him.”

“Damn. That close?” Bucky murmured, sounding sleepy.

“Yeah! Dumbass couldn’t wait ten more seconds. So Eurydice vanished, back to the Underworld, and Orpheus wandered around until he got murdered. The Muses buried him and Apollo, God of Everything, including music, put his magical harp in the sky and called it Lyra.”

“You sure know a lot about stars,” Bucky smiled against your scalp. You could feel his heart beating a slow, restful pace.

“Sleep well tonight and I’ll tell you more tomorrow, okay?” You asked him. He nodded, held you a little closer. His breath evened out in sleep. You followed him into dreams.


	2. Azure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and the reader sneak to New York City for some fresh air.

You woke up gradually, one eyelid involuntarily fluttering at a time. They slid shut again, the comfort of Bucky’s chest against your back and arm around your waist melting you. You breathed in his warm scent, the pine soap and faint gunpowder filling your nose. You laid still for awhile, cheek pressed into the soft pillow, every muscle relaxed, wishing this relaxation would never end.The room was filled with golden light as the sun slowly rose, streaming through the trees that surrounded the compound. You heard a sharp inhale from Bucky behind you as he shifted, then a soft groan that you related to all too well. **  
**

“Morning,” he rumbled softly, voice all raspy from sleep. “Hi,” you returned, unwillingly allowing yourself to wake up. You shifted some so Bucky could take his arms back, which he did, and without a word he trudged over to the bathroom as you watched him under your eyelashes. You saw him lean forward over the sink, his arm reach up and gently peel off the Hello Kitty band-aids. He grimaced as he gently prodded the thin scabs and threw away the band-aids. Worry swept through you, you didn’t want him to dwell on the nightmare or the scratches. You sat up in bed and gave him a perky, cheery smile. “Did you sleep well?” You asked him.

He paused and looked over at you. “After you came in, yes…”

You grinned. “Does that mean you get to hear more stories?”

An involuntary smile took over his lips, making his pretty eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think it does,” he murmured, looking back at you with a little sparkle in his eyes. “That’s what you promised, after all.”

“I always keep my promises,” you assured him and hopped out of his bed. “I’m gonna shower, we have training today. I’ll tell you a story later.”

He nodded, feeling light, as you skipped out of his room. He shook his head at himself and showered.

*****

Steve was an absolute bitch to train with. He was an amazing teacher, no doubt, and he got results. But he was _tough_. Every session with Steve made the group think it would be their last. Running laps around the perimeter, muscle-toning, sparring, reflex-enhancement, it was all so exhausting… and yet so invigorating. The hours after training always had you feeling stronger, more cheery, relaxed. And training was always finished by two in the afternoon so you were gifted with more energy and nothing to do with it.

You wandered around the facility, looking for something to do. Natasha and Clint were using the gym and you didn’t want to disturb them, so that was out. Wanda was showing Vision how to make mamaliga, so you couldn’t cook anything. Banner was nose-deep in a book in the library, so you elected to give him privacy. In short, you had nothing to do and it was excruciating. While wandering around, you passed Bucky’s room and noticed he was sitting on his bed. You pursed your lips and gently pushed the door further open and peered inside. He looked up at you, looking just as bored as you’ve been.

“Wanna go do something?”

“God, yes.”

You giggled and ran to your room, throwing on your favorite blue hoodie and a pair of tennis shoes, grabbing your purse from your closet. Bucky came out of his room wearing a hoodie, a baseball cap, jeans, and sneakers. You excitedly grabbed his flesh hand and started running to the exit. Behind you, Bucky smiled, caught up in your eagerness. He picked up the keys to his “company car,” as Tony put it on his way out the door and ran with you to the garage, feeling his lungs fill up with youthful exuberance he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. You flung yourself into the passenger side of a sleek black Mercedes and Bucky hurled himself into the driver’s seat.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you, the only sound being the engine of the car. “So… what exactly are we going to do? Sam will probably stop us at the security gate since you’re not authorized to take me out.”

That gave you pause. You forgot about Steve’s stupid, well-meaning rules. Bucky wasn’t allowed out unless he had an authorized Avenger to accompany him. It was put in place a few months ago because Bucky’s trigger words were leaked along with all of Hydra and SHIELD’s files back in 2014 and some…  _idiot_  recognized Bucky and decided to spew them out. He only managed to spit out five of the ten words before Bucky and Sam realized what was happening and beat the  _shit_  out of that moron.

So yeah, Bucky needs an escort in case some idiot tries to bring back Winter.

The obstacle seemed immovable. You sighed in defeat as Bucky shut the engine off. Then it hit you.

“Pop the trunk.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

***

You rolled up to the security checkpoint in the black Mercedes, wearing sunglasses and a smile. You braked smoothly in front of Sam, who was reading a magazine that he quickly hid from you. “Heya, Sam,” you chirped.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted. “Shopping today?” He asked, peering inside your empty vehicle. “All by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam. I’m sure those kickboxing moves you taught me will keep me safe,” you said cheerily. He huffed with a smug smirk and hit the button to lift the barrier. “Make sure you get home for dinner tonight. Tony and I are barbequing!”

You giggled, promised you’d be back soon, and drove past the checkpoint. You drove for a while, listening to your music, and finally pulled over a mile from the city. You swaggered to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and smirked down at a folded-up, cramping, sweaty Bucky, all his long legs and thick muscles stuffed into the trunk.

“Help,” he squeaked.

“Hold on.” You pulled your phone out and snapped a picture as he glared at you. “Couldn’t help it. This is too funny,” you giggled and held your hand out. He grabbed your hand, you dug your heels into the asphalt and helped him pull and unfold himself from the car, all disheveled.

“Worth it?” You asked him.

“Well, let’s see,” he smiled a tiny bit.

You found a reasonably-cheap parking garage and parked, then ran with Bucky out of the dark into the sunlight.

“Where are we?” He asked, scanning his surroundings.

“Front Street, near the Brooklyn Bridge,” you supplied. He nodded, looking around. “Wow, this is… different.”

“What do you want to do first?” You asked. “My treat. Anything you want.” Bucky glanced at you and gave you a crooked smile. “Are you trying to get me in bed or something?” He teased. You flushed horribly, embarrassed. “No!” You whined. “I just want to do something nice for you.”

He smiled more sincerely now. “This is nice, doll. Thanks.” His eyes swept around some. “How about coffee to start with?”

“I know a place.” You walked side-by-side with him, him walking between you and the street like a gentleman and keeping his pace slow so your “stubby little legs” could keep up. The two of you walked for about five minutes, observing passers-by, before reaching a brick-and-wood coffee shop. Bucky’s eyes roved over the fire escapes and brick buildings, smiling a little. “This is more like home,” he nodded. He held the door open with a gloved left hand and allowed you in first. Those 1940s manners were definitely something you could get used to.

You ordered two coffees and sat down in the corner of the shop, away from the other customers. Bucky sat between you and the door and took a quick sip of the steaming-hot drink. He peered down at his drink and narrowed his eyes a little. “You okay?” You asked tentatively.

He nodded and took a longer sip of his coffee. “Hazelnut. I’m not sure if I like it or not.”

“Oh?” You asked, sounding amused. He nodded seriously. “It’s nutty, which I like, but it’s very…” he gesticulated vaguely at the cup. “You know what I mean?”

You nodded seriously. “You should host a radio show,” you deadpanned. “I love hazelnut discourse.”

Bucky smiled ear to ear and looked down, chuckling at what you had said. “I guess that wasn’t super articulate,” he admitted. You giggled and took a sip of your drink. “I understood what you meant,” you assured him. “Hazelnut has a certain… je ne sais quois.”

There was a silence that bordered on uncomfortable for awhile. You peeked at him from under your lashes as you sipped your coffee. The sharp angle of his jaw, the unkempt scruff on his face, the gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes… His eyes. He held so much inside, right behind his eyes. There was such a tightness to those expressive, gorgeous eyes…

 _Gorgeous?_  You caught yourself.  _Slow down, there. He’s pretty and he’s broken and you feel the nearly-overwhelming urge to fix him. Calm the hell down._

“What do you want to do after this?” He asked, finishing the last sips of his drink. “I didn’t think that far ahead,” you admitted. He snickered a little. “Ya know, we’re pretty close to my old house… can we visit?”

“Of course!” You exclaimed, scandalized that he would even consider that you would bar him from his old home. You tossed your cup into the trash can, throwing an excited smile at him, genuinely excited to see him and Steve’s old home. “Try to keep up, old man,” you teased. The corners of his mouth jumped up in a disbelieving smile. “Oh, it’s  _so_  on,” he smirked.

You raced him across the Brooklyn Bridge and lost, badly. When you finally caught up with him, he was leaning against a lampost, reading a newspaper, snacking on a Snicker’s bar with a smug smile that should frankly be illegal. You slowed to a stop in front of him, out of breath and trying hard not to show it. You didn’t fool him. His calculating, trained eyes took in the slight tremble in your knees, the desperate rise and fall of your chest, the redness of your cheeks and sweat on your brow and huffed out a self-satisfied chuckle. “Looks like the old man wins this one,” he gloated, tossing the newspaper in the trash can.

“Yeah, yeah,” your rolled your eyes, but the raspiness of your voice undercut the unbothered image you were attempting to project. He shook his head with a little smile on his face and turned, looking down his old street. The smile faded a little. The blue in his eyes slowly grayed as he took in the unfamiliarity of his old home, his shoulders pulled close to his neck. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping this wasn’t too much for him.

He seemed to sense your worry. His head swung around like a snake’s and looked at you, eyes steel gray and cold. “I’m not made of glass,” he warned you, a hardness to his voice that took you by surprise.

“I know,” you answered with certainty in your voice despite your surprise. “I know.”

He nodded once, sharp and quick. He turned his eyes back to the street and started walking without you. You had to jog to keep up, your legs whining at you.  _So much for those 1940s manners._

You snuck glances at him, at his eyes roving the streets, the way they lingered on some things, but not others. “There used to be a hot dog stand here,” he remarked, gesturing to a patch of sidewalk with a gloved hand. “That was a barbershop… and that was- it’s still there!” He broke into a jog, causing you to groan helplessly. “Not all of us are super soldiers, James,” you whined.

He stopped in his tracks, causing you to collide with his back. You fell back a step, disoriented. He half-turned to you and looked down with an unreadable expression while you looked back, confused.

“What did you just call me?”

“What?” your mind raced. “Uh… James. Sorry.” You blushed in humiliation and looked down at the asphalt, your mind running through a million awkward and unpleasant scenarios.

After a long moment of silence, you peeked back up at him.

“James,” he tasted his own name on his tongue. “No one calls me that.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” He said quickly. “No, it’s okay. Just… took me by surprise.”

A breath of relief whooshed through your lungs. You looked up at him, noticing how close he was for the first time. You could count each of his eyelashes, smell his laundry detergent and the coffee clinging to his clothes.

He offered his flesh hand. “Walk with me?” A gesture meant to reassure. He wouldn’t touch you if he was angry. He thought for a moment and withdrew it an inch. “You don’t have to hold my hand. I’m not a creep.” Giving you the option to refuse without making the situation more awkward.

Your gaze flicked to the hand, then to him. You nodded with a dry mouth and slid your hand into his. You both turned and looked down a street that, to all the world, was quiet, unassuming, and meant little. But to Bucky, it meant so much more. And to be there with him as he took those first few steps to explore his past and his sense of self was an honor you couldn’t hope to describe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know not much happened in this chapter but it was getting a little long for my taste so I just ended it there. Next chapter will be a continuation of the trip! Thanks for reading!


	3. Navy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Bucky and the reader's New York trip.

You walked down the street, clasping his flesh hand to comfort him. His eyes swept like a hunter’s over street signs, storefronts, and eventually apartments. You couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or not. The sun was high in the sky, you two could hear the hum of televisions, kids playing in the alleys, cars passing by. Something smelled like barbeque but you couldn’t place the source. After a couple turns and a long measure of silence, Bucky stopped in front of a roped-off house. He took it in with a furrowed brow and stepped up to the side of the building, where a plaque was hung with his face on it. He read the inscription below.

_ James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes  _

_ 1917-1945. _

_ This is the apartment where Howling Commando James Barnes lived with his mother, Winifred, and his sister, Rebecca. A brilliant math student, artist, good soldier, and loyal friend, Sergeant Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service to our country.  _

_ Rest in Peace, Sergeant.  _

_ The plaque and preservation of this landmark was paid for by Howard Stark and Margaret Carter.  _

The apartment was roped off at the top of the stairs, barring entry to his old home. He started climbing the stairs. “Bucky! You can’t go up there!” You hissed, turning to make sure no one on the street noticed. When you looked back down, he was giving you a bemused look. “It’s  _ my  _ goddamn house,” he reminded you. You huffed a little and, after a moment of bouncing on your toes, sighed and darted up the stairs to join him. While you were stuck in indecision, he had opened the door and disappeared into his apartment. You hesitated on the top step.  _ Is this too intimate? Am I intruding? He barely knows me, he probably doesn’t want me sharing this with him _ -

Your train of thought was interrupted by Bucky glimpsing a police cruiser slide by on the street below and yanking you in by your hoodie. 

You were swiped into a dusty, tiny apartment. Old magazines, under inches of dust, sat on the round, wooden dining room table. _ Life, Time, Popular Science, _ and  _ Esquire  _ were a few of the titles you could make out. Two towels hung from the oven’s bar, eaten by moths or mice or god knows what. The floral wallpaper was faded and yellowed with time. 

“Mama would faint if she saw all this dust,” Bucky muttered. You snapped out of your reverie to look at him. “Is it okay that I’m in here?” you asked meekly. 

He shrugged. “Mama liked meeting new people. She would’ve whacked me upside the head if I made you stay outside.” Something caught his attention. He wandered over to the old recliner and picked up a large pad of paper. He lifted it, opened it, his mouth opening a little in surprise. 

“My old sketchbook…” He thumbed through the pages. “Wow. This…” he shut it and nodded to himself. “This is horrible.” He declared, putting it back on the table. You frowned at him indignantly and stuck your hand out. “It can’t be  _ that  _ bad!” He just looked at you with a look of amusement on his face. “I don’t even remember drawing most of those, doll. I don’t remember a whole lot before… you know.” 

“Please can I see it?” You begged. “Maybe it’ll help you to look through them more.”

“No.” 

You pouted at him.

“Not happening.” 

Your lower lip trembled.

“What are you doing.”

Your eyes prickled with fake tears.

“Stop that!” You could see his will breaking. 

“Please?” You asked brokenly. “Please may I see it?” 

He broke.

“Gah! Fine! Punk…” he muttered, handing you the sketchbook. 

“Yay!” You smiled wide, all traces of sadness gone, and took the sketchbook, humming to yourself, flipping through the pages.

He stared at you in disbelief.  _ What the hell did she do to me? _

“Ooh!” You squeaked. “What’s this?” 

Bucky came over and peered over your shoulder. “I told you, I don’t remember…” he trailed off, eyes following the lines of his pencils. “Wait… yeah. I remember that one. That’s the 59th Street Bridge. Queensboro.” He took the sketchbook back and gently traced the lines. “Steve and I went to Long Island during the summer. We got ice cream and hot dogs, then remembered we had an assignment for our art class due the next day. So we sat down and drew the first thing that caught our eyes.”  

He smiled a little and closed the book. “You were right. Don’t tell anyone though,” he tucked the book under his hoodie. “Isn’t that stealing?” you asked. 

He looked at you like you had three heads. “My stuff, remember?”

“Oh, right.” 

You both heard a clang from the bottom of the staircase. A quick glance out the window confirmed your fear. The cruiser from earlier was parked on the sidewalk. 

“Shit. How are your legs?” Bucky hissed at you. 

“My- oh God, are we running again?” You asked despairingly. 

“Not right this second.” Bucky grabbed your hand and ran past the kitchen, down the hall, and darted into a room facing the back alley. “We’re three stories up!” You hissed at him. “We won’t be in a second,” he smirked at you before grabbing an old clothesline, cutting it, grabbing the end, and yanking the rest of the line towards him. 

He quickly fashioned a harness under your arms and around your waist with sure, practiced hands. “When your shoes touch the pavement, pull this string, the whole harness will fall apart.” He showed you the little string and put your hand on top of it. “Then book it to the bus stop five blocks down and wait for me. If I don’t beat you there,” he smirked. He scooped you up and sat you on the windowsill, holding the cord in his metal hand. “I got you. Start sliding down.”

You looked at him with terror in your eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” You squeaked, holding the window frame with a death grip. Bucky looked over his shoulder in alarm. “No. Hurry up, I don’t want to deal with cops today.”    


“But- Bucky, I can’t-” 

Bucky lifted your chin and tore your gaze from the pavement below to his shocking blue eyes. “I wouldn’t do anything to put you in danger,” he promised in a low voice. “I have you. Do you trust me?”

Heart beating in your chest, sound of the cop climbing the stairs filling your ears, hands shaking like rattles, you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, I trust you.” 

He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to your hairline. “Alright. Start descending. Remember what I told you. Go.” 

Heart in your throat and flames on your cheeks, you slid yourself off the brick windowsill. 

The harness pinched under your arms and you felt like you had left your stomach with Bucky. A human hand would’ve dropped you, the ropeburn would’ve split their hands in half. But Bucky’s Wakandan hand was steady, feeding the rope downwards. It was faster than rappelling, but it did the trick. As soon as your sneakers hit the ground, you pulled the string and sprinted down the street, free of the ropes. 

When you got to the thankfully-empty bus stop, you stopped, heaving, trying desperately to get your breath back. It occured to you that you had no idea how Bucky was planning on getting down. You waited, trying not to look suspicious, fiddling with your phone nervously. 

After a few minutes, Bucky trotted out from behind the corner of a building with a grimace on his face. When he noticed you, his face broke into a smile. He walked up casually and smirked down at you. “Hey. Come here often?”

You broke into giggles, tension obviously lifted. “How did you get down?” you asked. He shrugged. “Jumped. Broke my ankle so I had to hop aggressively for a couple blocks.”

You looked down at his ankle curiously. “It doesn’t look broken…”

“Heal factor,” he explained. “From the serum. Steve has it too, but his is better because my serum was a HYDRA knockoff.” 

There was silence for a moment before you bit back another wave of giggles. “Did… did you say you had to…  _ aggressively hop _ for two blocks?” 

Bucky lifted his nose, mock-affronted. “Yes. And I don’t appreciate you making fun of my plight.” His façade cracked after two valiant seconds of trying to keep a straight face, sending you back into giggles. A bus pulled up to the stop and opened its doors. You looked at Bucky, who shrugged. The two of you climbed aboard and took a seat in the back. He sat in the aisle seat, and you weren’t sure if this was to protect you from other commuters or keep you away from his arm. Either way, you were happy that you got the window seat. 

As the bus moved, Bucky’s eyes roved over passing buildings and pedestrians. In the tight seats, your left thigh and his right thigh touched ever so slightly. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked after several blocks of silence. 

“It’s so different,” he answered. “And… I think I like it.”

The bus lumbered on down the streets, past several blocks, landmarks, bridges. “When should we get off?” You asked him. He shrugged again. “Whenever we feel like. No rush.” 

After about half an hour, Bucky started seeing signs for the American Museum of Natural History. “That’s still around?” He asked interestedly. You nodded. “Yep. I heard they have a neat space exhibit now.” 

He pondered this for a moment. “Have you seen it?”

You shook your head. 

“Do you want to?”

You nodded. 

He grinned. The pair of you hopped off the bus on the west side of Central Park, used Tony’s Avengers credit card to pay for tickets, and headed straight for the space exhibit. 

Bucky was entranced. The stars, the planets, the sheer  _ size _ of the celestial bodies floored him. Even more amazing to him was the clarity of the images, even at the incredible distance the cameras took the photos at. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and neither could you. No one really can. 

“How did this happen?” He asked in amazement, staring up at a model of Apollo 11. “How did we get to space? Why?”

You crossed your arms and looked up at the model with him. “After World War Two ended, there were two superpowers on the world stage. The United States, and the USSR. The United States was wary of Russia because they were terrified of communism and disapproved of Stalin’s tyrannical rule. Russia was pissed off at America for delaying their entry into World War Two, which caused the deaths of millions of Russians, and were annoyed because America refused to recognize the USSR as a legitimate part of the international community. After the war, the USSR began expanding and spreading communism across Europe and Asia. America decided to adopt a policy called, ‘containment,’ and began attempting to intervene in USSR expansion.

“The US and the USSR saw each other as rivals, arch-enemies, and a period of tension that lasted until the 90s began. We called it the Cold War.” 

Bucky stared at you, hanging on every word. “I heard about the Cold War. I’m pretty sure I was part of it, somehow. But what does that have to do with this?” He gestured to the exhibit.

“Well, both countries wanted to become more powerful than the other. We engaged in an ‘arms race,’ to build more powerful weapons than the other. That produced the AK-47, the F-4 Phantom, and the USS George Washington, the first ballistic nuclear missile submarine. Then the Russians started sending satellites and shit into space, and America decided that we also needed to send shit into space. For science. Basically it was an international dick-measuring contest that caused the deaths of thousands of people.” 

He snorted. “That’s one way to put it…” His eyes trailed to a little theater in a separate room, where people could watch educational films about the topics in the museum. “You think that will be interesting?” he asked, nodding to it. You looked over, reading the title. “The Space Race: A Timeline. Might be. Wanna watch?” He nodded and wandered over with you trailing behind.

The theater was empty and only lit by the large screen. You and Bucky found seats against the wall and settled down, eyes locked on the white screen. A montage of space footage and clips of launching rockets danced across the screen as an orchestra played the Space Odyssey theme. The dim lights in the tiny theater went completely dark as the film began. Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s rich, perky voice flowed from the speakers. 

_ “After Berlin fell, two superpowers rose from the ashes, and kicked into gear the ultimate competition. A competition that would send man into space and launch us into the future.”  _

The screen changed, showing old film clips from the 50s. 

“ _ On October 4th, 1957, the Soviets launched into space the first artificial Earth satellite. This satellite was launched into an elliptical low Earth orbit, where it floated in space for three weeks before the batteries died. After the batteries died, it orbited silently for another fortnight before crashing back into the atmosphere. This satellite was called Sputnik.”  _

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky suddenly stiffen. You looked over in confusion, just in time to see his eyes roll into the back of his head before pitching forward and falling like a sack of flour into the seats in the row in front of you. You gasped in shock and scrambled to the floor beside him, rolling him over and shaking him. 

“Bucky! BUCKY!” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and the reader bond through thick and thin.

You shook Bucky frantically, beginning to panic as he lay unconscious. “Bucky!!! Wake up, goddammit!” Shaking, trembling fingers yanked your cell phone out of your pocket. You had to call Steve, you didn’t have a choice.  _ He’s going to be so mad… You’re so dead.  _ You pressed Steve’s speed dial number and waited while the phone rang, clutching Bucky’s hand and trying not to hyperventilate. 

_ He’s breathing. He’s okay. He’s breathing and he’s sober, he’s gonna be okay. Steve’s gonna murder you, but Bucky’s okay _ . Finally, Steve picked up. “Y/N? Everything okay?” 

“No!” You nearly sobbed. “I- I’m sorry, Steve, Bucky and I snuck out of the compound and- we went to a space museum and I don’t know what happened but Bucky passed out and he isn’t waking up!” You squeezed Bucky’s hand as he lay there like a sack of flour. Steve’s calm voice came through the speaker. 

“Alright. I’m not mad, just listen closely. Where exactly are you?” 

You gulped, relieved he said he wasn’t mad. “The American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. We’re in the Space Race theater at the Dark Universe exhibit.” 

“Stay put. Do not move. I’m coming over with the Quinjet, I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up on you. You dried your budding tears and moved Bucky so his head and neck were in your lap, more comfortably supported. The lights and shapes, accompanied by Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s smug, overwhelming voice made it hard to calm down and concentrate. You played with his hair, trying to soothe yourself and him, trying not to panic. Steve didn’t seem worried, so maybe there was nothing wrong, maybe Bucky just had fainting spells now and then. 

You doubted it. 

A hand landed gently on your shoulder. You gasped and whipped your head around and craned your head up, only to see a severe-looking Steve looking down at you. Your mouth went dry. 

“I’m sorry,” you croaked. Steve shook his head and bent down, slinging Bucky over his shoulder like a fireman. 

“We’ll discuss this at home.” 

You followed Steve up to the roof, where the Quinjet was hovering, cloaked so it was invisible to passers-by. None of the museum employees stopped you, seeming unwilling to stop Captain America from carrying out a passed-out hobo-looking-guy and a defeated-looking girl with her head hanging down like a guilty puppy. 

You bordered the jet. Steve put Bucky in a cot and strapped him down “for safety.” You weren’t sure if that meant to be a seatbelt or to restrain him if he woke up as Winter. Steve gave Bucky an unreadable look before brushing a lock of hair off of Bucky’s face and leaving for the pilot’s seat. Banner came out from one of the back quarters as the Quinjet took off and put his glasses on, then lifting Bucky’s wrist to check his vitals. “Pulse is fine,” he murmured. “Breathing’s fine. Temperature’s fine.” He pressed a device to Bucky’s temple and checked a monitor to his right. “Brainwaves are… Huh. He’s comatose, but it’s not a deep coma, I could probably wake him up once we get back to the compound.” 

You exhaled in relief. “So he’s okay? He’s not hurt?” Banner shook his head reassuringly. “No, he’s medically in perfect shape, he’s just…” He shrugged and gestured to Bucky. “Napping, I guess.” You scoffed at Banner and sat in a seat by Bucky’s feet. “So there’s no explanation? Just a random coma?”

Banner looked down at Bucky’s face, seemingly deep in thought. “Actually, there may be an explanation…” He hurried to the other side of the jet and grabbed his laptop. “One second.” 

You nibbled on your thumbnail, watching Bucky for signs of wakefulness. “Huh,” Banner came back with the laptop and scrolled through line upon line of text until he found what he was looking for. 

“Sputnik.”

You looked up at him in confusion. “Sputnik?” 

Banner nodded. “Bucky has his ten Russian trigger words to activate the Winter Soldier. He also has a kill switch HYDRA could use in case he got out of control while in the field. The word is Sputnik. I’m guessing he must’ve heard it while you guys were in the museum.” 

You could almost hear Neil’s stupid voice in your head again. “We were watching a movie about the Space Race.”

Banner removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “Yep, that would do it…” He shut his laptop and put it away. 

“Buckle up for landing,” Steve warned you two. 

You, Steve, and Banner transported Bucky to the hospital wing of the compound, keeping him restrained because no one could say for sure if he would wake up as Bucky. They put him in a hospital bed with a tiny IV drip, just to keep him hydrated. Banner decided to try to see if Bucky would wake up on his own. After twelve hours, Banner would try to wake him up. You and Steve pulled up chairs and sat there, waiting for Bucky to wake up. 

After almost two hours of total silence, Steve finally asked the question. 

“Why did you sneak him out of the compound?” 

You decided to go with the honest route. “We were bored.” 

Neither of you were looking at the other. “Bored enough to risk capture?” Steve asked cynically. Before you could answer, he cut you off. “That’s not fair,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry. Bucky must’ve been dying for some fresh air. He would’ve found a way to sneak off.” 

“It was my idea,” you admitted. “It was my idea to sneak him out, too. I’m so sorry, Steve.” 

“Hey. It’s okay,” he promised. “It’s fine. No harm done.” He glanced at Bucky. “Well… no  _ serious _ harm done.” That made you giggle. 

“You’re such a fucking punk.” 

You and Steve’s attention snapped to Bucky, looking at you two with half-lidded eyes. “Sorry, Buck,” Steve apologized. 

“Mocking my plight again, Y/N? Mean,” he rasped, making you giggle again. “Are you okay, Bucky?” you asked, smile fading. 

“I’m fine. Why am I in the goddamn hospital? I thought we were looking at space.” 

You looked at Steve, who nodded. “We were, Buck… Apparently you have another trigger word.” You explained what happened in the museum. Bucky nodded to show he understood, though he obviously wasn’t happy about it.

“Can’t even fucking look at space without those bastards trying to ruin it.” You squeezed Bucky’s flesh hand, surprised when he squeezed it back. “You still owe me a story,” he reminded you. He looked down in distaste before you could respond and ripped out his IV, his skin immediately healing the little pinprick. “God, I’m hungry. Is Sam still making barbeque?” He slid out of bed and walked off, despite your weak protestations. You looked at Steve for help.

Steve just smirked. “Yep. He’s feeling better.”

*** 

Bucky started going out of his way to include you in the next two weeks. If he heard a new song, he wanted you to hear it to. If he read a history book, he wanted your take on it. On board game night, you were invited. If  he wanted to watch a movie, he’d ask you to recommend one. Any excuse to hear you speak. 

At lunch one day, he finally told you about his mom and his sister. How his mom loved flowers,  and kept trying to grow forget-me-not in the flower box on the windowsill. How his sister played violin in school and practiced when no one was home because she would get embarrassed if she messed up. And how, on rainy nights, when Rebecca had gone to sleep, he and his mom would sit at the kitchen table and stare at the rain while she told him stories about his father. He had asked you about your family, but you shrugged and avoided the question. You didn’t want to talk about your family. He let it go. 

You would spend most mornings like this. One of you would get breakfast and you’d camp out in a quiet place in the facility. You’d talk in between bites, getting to know each other more and more as time passed by. Then Bucky would go train with Steve and you would go train with Natasha and meet back up for lunch afterwards.

That was most days, but not today. He knocked on your door while you were still groggy and sleep-sticky. You opened the door and glared at his sunny, perky, wide-awake self. “What?” you grouched at him. 

“Rise and shine, babydoll! It’s ten a.m., I’m shocked Steve hasn’t tossed you in the lake to wake you up. Come on, Sam and Tony and I made brunch, let’s go!” He chattered at the speed of light, like a chipmunk after coffee. You couldn’t help yourself, his positivity was contagious. You smiled sleepily up at him. 

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let me make myself presentable, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Sam, Tony, and Bucky laid out a feast in the kitchen that was even impressive to Thor. Pancakes, waffles, french toast, various fruits, chipped beef gravy, biscuits, grits, hash browns, every variation of eggs, orange juice, iced water, iced tea, coffee, and milk were lavishly displayed on the kitchen island. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. 

“What’s the special occasion?” You asked as you grabbed a plate and silverware. Bucky shrugged. “Tony, Sam and I still have some… trust issues to work out and Tony read somewhere that preparing and eating a meal together is one of the best ways to build solidarity, so… yeah.” 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you said, nodding to Sam and Tony laughing together about something on the other side of the island. “What did you make?” you asked him. 

“The waffles. And I picked up the blueberries, strawberries, plums, watermelon, cantaloupe, and kiwi from the farmer’s market, so I’m taking credit for that. I also made the french toast.” He bit back a proud smile as you loaded up your plate with the food he had cooked. He got a plate and got the gravy, biscuits, pancakes, and fruit. 

The sun shone through the windows. Wanda leaned against Vision, who played with her long hair while she ate. Natasha, Steve, and Thor traded stories about past missions and battles. Sam and Tony talked about food that their families made, though Tony swore that the best food he ever ate was made by his nanny. Banner quietly stuffed his face with watermelon. You sat next to Bucky at the end of the table and dug in.

“Wow,” you said around a mouthful, impressed. “Bucky, this is- Wow. Delicious. You’re awesome.” 

“I know,” he said smugly. His cocky tone was undermined by a sudden pinkness on his ears and cheeks, but you were too busy indulging in the tasty food to make fun of him for it. 

Everything felt perfect. 

***

Steve invited you and Natasha to train with him and Bucky later that afternoon, to expose everyone to different fighting styles. Steve was an aerial fighter, he used his environment to his advantage, employed his legs with kicks and jumps, and had fluidity to his movements. Bucky was primarily a sniper, and preferred to shoot from a distance with an aim that rivaled Clint’s. In hand-to-hand combat, he tended to be more predictable. Left arm for defense, right arm for offense, with a mix of various martial arts. While it was effective, it was easy to get used to and beat after a few rounds. Occasionally, he would use his left arm for defense, but sparingly, when he was in a tight spot. It was very different from how he fought as the Winter Soldier, who was a blitz, a tornado of death. 

Steve decided Bucky needed a change of pace. Bringing in you two seemed perfect. You and Natasha observed for several rounds, demonstrated your own skills for a few rounds as well. You caught Bucky staring at you several times. By the time Bucky and Nat faced each other, the sun was going down. 

Everything was fine at first. Natasha swept Bucky’s knees out from under him, Bucky threw her across the (padded) room. Natasha landed a solid double-kick to his abdomen, he grabbed her leg and threw her across the room. 

“Bucky, you cant just throw people, they’ll just come back later,” Steve called, like a dad watching his kid’s soccer game. Bucky huffed in response and turned to face Natasha, only to get a faceful of her fist. She’d ran back quicker that time and just launched herself at him, knocking him on his ass and landing on his chest. You saw his eyes widen for a moment as he stared up at her, then he swung at her with his flesh hand. 

She was counting on that. She easily dodged it and used her knee to pin the arm across his chest, effectively pinning the metal arm to the floor as well. While he struggled to get his arm back, she wrapped her hands around his throat and hissed out something in Russian. 

The next few seconds went by in slow motion. Bucky had a sudden burst of strength, probably caused by adrenaline. He backhanded Nastasha with all of his strength, knocking her out cold and sending her sailing three feet to the side. Steve’s mouth dropped open in total shock, but he couldn’t do or say anything before Bucky scrambled upwards and ran to the locker room.

A surge of protectiveness shot up from your stomach into your chest. “Look after Natasha, I’m going to talk to Bucky.” You didn’t give him time to respond before running into the locker room. 

Bucky was on his knees in a stall, retching and puking up his breakfast. “Bucky?” you asked quietly, putting a gentle hand on his back to let him know you were there. “Bucky, are you okay?” 

He finished coughing and wiped his mouth with some toilet paper. “I need to get out of here,” he swallowed hard, refusing to look at you. “I need to go.” 

“Okay. Hey, listen,” you whispered. “Come on. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Get some air. Can you get up for me?” He stood up unsteadily, still not meeting your gaze. “Come on.” 

You made your way out of the compound to your car with Bucky seemingly in a daze. You managed to put him in your car and impulsively kissed his forehead, trying to calm him down. You shut the passenger door when he was safely inside and hurried to the driver’s seat. Sam, at the checkpoint, seemed to know you were coming and lifted the barrier so you could zoom past him. You reached your right hand out for him, and he gave you his right hand. “Where do you want to go?” You asked him. 

“Anywhere.” 

You drove in silence for several hours, only stopping for gas. He held your hand the entire time, bringing himself back to the present, calming himself down, fuming about Natasha’s stupidity, worrying if she did what she did on purpose.

You slowed the car to a stop on a deserted, two-lane road that was lined with acres of corn on either side. You shut off the car and squeezed Bucky’s hand. 

“We’re here.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

You got out of the car. “I’m gonna stretch my legs. Get some air.” You shut the car door, tucking the keys into your pocket. You walked around to the front and leaned on the hood of the car. There was total silence. No breeze, no birds, no machines or screens. Just fields of tall, tall green, disrupted by a miles-long gray band, striped with yellow in the middle. 

Bucky left the car and leaned against the hood. He looked up, seeing the bright full moon, the thousands and thousands of stars, unobstructed by light pollution, smog, and buildings. You looked with him. So many stars. The longer you looked, the more you noticed. 

“This is hurting my neck,” you grumbled, breaking the spell for a moment. You looked at the car, shrugged, and climbed on top of it, laying down on the room and letting your legs rest on the windshield. You stared up at the stars, more comfortable lying down. Bucky followed suit, agreeing a sore neck wasn’t a good way to end the night. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes fixed on the sky. 

“It’s not your fault, Bucky.”

“I feel like it is, though. That was just training. If that happened in the field, I’d be dead. I can’t just freeze up and have flashbacks every time someone calls me an asshole in Russian.”

“Is that what she said?”

“I mean, it was worse than that, but that’s the gist of it.” 

You took your eyes off the sky to look at him, taking in his gorgeous profile, the stubble on his face. “Bucky… You need to see a therapist. You almost certainly have PTSD- well, who doesn’t, on this team? Sam would help you. We all would.” 

“I know. I need to get better. It’s not a question. I  _ have _ to get better. I just…” He went completely silent. He seemed to even stop breathing. “Can… I want to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone. I’m serious.” 

“I would never.” You reached down and squeezed his flesh hand. “You know I wouldn’t.”

He nodded, a quick jerk, and chewed on the inside of his cheek while trying to find the words. 

“I don’t miss it,” he finally said. “God knows I don’t miss it. I get sick thinking about it sometimes. But…” he hesitated for a long time. “I… don’t know who I am without Winter. Shuri broke the brainwashing, which- Jesus, I owe her my life for that. I really do. But sometimes I’ll hear… Not the Soldier, but what he  _ would  _ say if he was still in my head, you know?” 

You stayed quiet, letting him finish. “He’s been in my head so long that I don’t really know who I am without him. He isn’t me. I don’t want him back. But when he left, I feel like he took all of me with him.” His voice broke for a moment. “I miss being me. But I don’t know what that is.” 

You let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “Can I say something?” You asked, still looking at him while he looked at the stars. He nodded, looking afraid. 

“We’ve already established that what you did back then isn’t you now,” you stated, to which Bucky nodded. “But no one told you what to do with that information.” He furrowed his brows, not saying anything. You pressed on. “You don’t need to redeem yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. You need to reclaim yourself. And I think you started doing that when you accepted the name White Wolf.” You rolled over a little to face him. “Just start doing more of what you love. Like this, seeing the stars? We can do that more often. You can see a therapist, at the VA or in Wakanda to work through your flashbacks and anxiety. You and Steve could get back into art. Your life right now? The torment you keep going through? This doesn’t have to be your life. You can change it. You have to try, though. Just like everything else, you’ll have to work for it.” 

He finally turned his head a bit to meet your eyes. “Do you think I can?” he asked in a whisper. “Seriously? Do you think I can change?” 

“Yes,” you said firmly. “If you want it, you can do it. You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re a hundred years old. You broke out of HYDRA’s control. You can do anything.” 

Bucky rolled over so you two were chest-to-chest and hugged you, for a long time. You felt so safe with him holding you. You hugged back, tucking your face in his shoulder. 

He released you after a few moments. “Let’s go home. I miss my bed.” 

You two slid off the car, got inside it, and headed back to the compound. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
